


Embers

by blue_eyed_hanji (mattsunsthighs)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, canon-verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattsunsthighs/pseuds/blue_eyed_hanji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes all it takes is one thing for your world to collapse around you, and sometimes, it's irreversible...</p><p>The boy with whom he shared his most intimate and passionate moments. Gone… just like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embers

He felt empty as he stared down at the body that lay in front of him on the blood soaked street. The moment his eyes had fallen upon the broken figure, ice seemed to spread from within his chest all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. He was frozen, and felt dead inside when he gave the medic the name that belonged to this specific body. He remained still as she walked away and he didn’t realized he was actually shaking where he stood until he heard the footsteps of a Garrison member approaching from behind him, and come to stand next to him.

“Ouch. Poor guy… Well c’mon Trainee… let’s get him onto the cart.”

Jean was pulled further from his thoughts at the sound of the man’s voice, which was rough and sounded thick. He raised his arm to his eyes and roughly wiped the tears that were rapidly blurring his vision on his sleeve before he could shed anymore.

“No,” his voice broke and he cleared his throat before continuing in a low tone. “I got him.”

Jean felt his voice waver on the last word and the man looked at him for a moment before grunting his assent and walking away to search for more bodies. Jean didn’t bother watching him leave, his eyes were still glued to the body before him, the body that he knew so damn well, right down to every hidden cluster of freckles.

“Marco…”

His world was gone, collapsing in on itself right where he stood. Marco had been the person who had held his world together, had been his world, and even now as he knelt down to pick up what was left of him, Jean could not believe that Marco was dead. The boy who had made him smile despite whatever foul mood he was in, or laughed at his shitty jokes that were hardly ever funny. The boy that he cuddled up to at night, especially during the bitter cold of the winter, and the beautiful tanned and freckled arms Jean could always find warmth in. The boy with whom he shared his most intimate and passionate moments. Gone… just like that.

Jean felt as though he was drifting away as he wrapped his arms around Marco and pulled his corpse to his chest as he stood up, causing Marco’s blood to seep through his jacket and shirt, feeling the warm crimson liquid as it glued his shirt to his skin. Numbly, he walked over to the nearby cart, already piled with other bodies of the fallen, and placed Marco on it as gently as he could.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t feel like himself. Like he’s observing himself from within his own head, but he’s not in control of his actions. He watches himself help build the funeral pyre, placing each wood plank with an empty expression that mirrors his comrades around him. They don’t have enough materials to build a fire big enough for the hundreds of bodies, so they end up placing the bodies in the fire a few at a time, by last names. Jean doesn’t pay much attention to the first several names the General calls out, but when he hears him call out Marco’s name, he forces his legs to move himself forward towards the soldiers charged with placing the bodies in the fire. Moving as though he’s on autopilot and without saying a word, Jean cuts off the soldier about to pick up Marco and does it himself, being gentle with him, like he’s prying Marco’s arm from its usual vice-like grip around his torso in the early hours of the morning. The man opens his mouth, as if he’s about to question Jean or dispute his actions and demand he let them do their job, but when Jean turns around to face him he notices the brokenness behind those tawny eyes, and simply steps out of his way without a word.

What should be a short, fifteen-foot distance seems to drag on for eons, as Jean carries Marco toward his final resting place. They hadn’t had enough supplies to go around to wrap all the bodies so they simply wrapped what they could with the thick rain capes. Jean is thankful for this, because he feels if he were able to see the remainder of Marco’s beautiful face, he wouldn’t be able to complete the task, and set his remains aflame.

_‘How could it have been just three days ago, that you were smiling at me, sharing with me the excitement we felt at being able to finally go to the interior?’_

 

* * *

 

  _Sunlight streamed through the window, lighting up the barracks, and adding a soft tranquil feeling to the light sounds of breathing as morning broke. Jean was reluctant to get up and face the day – as well as the sunlight shining directly in his face – and he grumbled his displeasure at being pulled from his sleep as he flipped himself over to burrow more cozily into the warm darkness that had wrapped itself around him. Said darkness had its arms encircling Jean and a freckled leg draped over his thighs._

_When Jean turned around to face him, Marco hummed sleepily, smiling slightly and nuzzling his face in Jean’s blond hair, before ducking down to place a light kiss on his forehead. This time, Jean’s grumble was more audible, more pronounced, and caused Marco to let out a quiet, sleepy laugh, eyes still closed. He trailed a hand lightly over Jean’s back, reveling in the softness of his pale skin, and the shiver Marco felt run up his spine at his touch. When his fingers reached his hair, Marco brushed aside the hair obscuring Jean’s face._

_“Good morning,” he whispered, running a thumb slowly across Jean’s cheek as Jean finally squinted his eyes open, adjusting to the light filling the barracks. Flashing a very sleepy smile, Jean nosed his way across the small space of their shared pillow to plant a sloppy kiss right on Marco’s nose._

_“Mm, hey,” Jean trailed his gaze over the freckles on Marco’s face, drinking in each one, committing them to memory as his eyes opened more fully and he became more awake, his smile spreading wider across his face as he did so._

_“Today’s the day, Marco. Today we go to the interior together.”_

_“Yeah,” Marco said softly, his beautiful gaze filling Jean with fluttering warmth, and his smile causing his brain to go_ 'kerchunk' _. Jean would never get tired of seeing that beautiful smile, that smile that always made him smile as well; Marco’s happiness was contagious._

_“I love you, Jean.”_

_Jean exhaled a laugh, and turned his head to bury his face in the pillow to hide his blush. He would have thought that after hearing Marco say those words hundreds of times already, he’d stop blushing each time. After a few seconds, he peeked over at Marco with one eye, face still aflame, and let out a slightly muffled ‘I love you, too’._

_“What do you think the interior will be like?”_

_Jean huffed, and flopped his head back onto the pillow to look at Marco fully, “I don’t know. I hear they live in really nice houses. Maybe we’ll live in one too.”_

_“Mhm,” Marco hummed, “it doesn’t matter to me, as long as we’re together.”_

_Snorting in amusement, Jean buried his face in the crook of Marco’s neck, inhaling the scent that was inherently Marco, and wrapped his limbs around the freckled boy like he was a cat._

_“God, you’re such a cheeseball.”_

_“Yeah, but I’m your cheeseball.”_

_“Yep.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 Flames flicker and spit embers as Jean watches Marco from within the pyre, tears streaming heavily down his face, catching pieces of floating ash and making his eyes sting. He watches the fire burn away the last of his lover, until there is nothing left but ash, mixing in with the remains of the other soldiers. The flames spit and sputter, sending bits of charred bone flying out of the reach of the flames and spreading the unsavory smell of burning flesh.

Jean stares emptily into the flames, his mind flying.

He couldn’t join the Military Police now. What if this happened to Sasha, Armin, Connie, Mikasa, or even Eren? He would never know if he went to live safely in the interior; his friends could die at any time and he wouldn’t know about it. He would remain blissfully unaware of the fates that had befallen his friends.

Just like Marco…

Jean spares a glance towards the others standing around the bonfire. Connie is crouched in a ball, his hands holding his head, and his whole form shaking with poorly suppressed tears. His sobs echo around the courtyard, mixing in with the cracking and popping of the fire.

_‘Dammit.’_

Placing one foot in front of the other, Jean moves closer to the pyre. There’s a small scattering of broken pieces of charred bones a short distance from the flames, and he crouches down in front of them. They all looked the same; making it no longer possible to tell which pieces used to belong to Marco.

“Hey, Marco… I can’t even tell which are your bones anymore,” Jean says, feeling his throat close as he swallows around the lump lodged there. Reaching out, he picks up one of the bone fragments and holds it in his fist as he struggles to hold back tears that threaten to fall again from his eyes. The blood in his veins run cold when he looks up and sees Marco standing before him and bathed in a peaceful looking light.

_“I hope you won’t get angry with me when I say this, but you aren’t strong. You know how the weak feel, and therefore know what needs to be done.”_

Before Jean could blink, or even rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, Marco disappeared, leaving the ice to run through Jean’s veins with more ferocity than before. A heavy weight settles in Jean’s chest, the realization finally hitting him that he will never hear Marco’s beautiful voice again. The voice that told of his love for Jean, that told him he would make an excellent leader; that voice was now lost, remaining only within his memory.

Stiffly, he gets to his feet as a sort of revelation fills him, Jean realizes. He can’t go and join the MPs now, abandon his comrades and ignore Marco’s memory. As much as he would be loathe admitting it. There is no future for him within the interior anymore. Half the reason had been so he could live happily with Marco. But that was no longer possible. It died when Marco died.

 “Hey, you guys,” his voice breaks through Connie’s sobs, as he looks at his comrades with what he’s sure is a terrified look, “have you figure out where you guys are going yet? I have.”

Looking down at his still clenched fist, Jean feels his body giving in to the overwhelming sadness the fills him, and overflows as he chokes around his sobs.

“I- I’m going to the Scouting Regiment!”

He finally gives in to his grief and lets the tremors shake through him, feeling tears land on his closed fist.

_‘At least this way, I’ll have a chance at seeing Marco again sooner.’_

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely cried while writing this.
> 
> Still no regrets. None.
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://dumbass-oikawa.tumblr.com)


End file.
